Marriage Bout

Marriage Bout by Neil McCall

I took too little time to find you out,
for you were always playing to a crowd,
tossing gestures to your followers in the pit.
I did not heed those voices from the box
seats, my brothers in the blood.
Hastily I offered you my ring.

I threw my battered hat into your ring
and joined your slavering in-crowd;
pack hunters scenting victims' blood;
vicious curs, jaws like pit
bull terriers, snarling boxers,
ill-bred bitches who should have never been let out.

For some time our relationship worked out;
I brought you pretty undies in a box
and didn't mind the cycle of your blood.
I told you you were chosen from a crowd,
my sweetest brown girl in the ring,
you blushed and punched my shoulder, giggling "Stop it!

But there were days we fell into a pit,
the lid slammed firmly shut on our box
with us trapped, unable to get out '
was there no-one we could ring
or were we mutually too proud
to seek help for self-inflicted trails of blood.

Somehow we managed to increment our blood
line; two's company, three's a crowd
and four's a mob, crammed into our box.
I must confess, I took increased time out
and left you wallowing in the pit
with all the daily baggage children bring.

Full circle turns, no gap left in the ring;
I feel like I've been working down the pit;
a scab emerging to the scornful hostile crowd.
Bad daddy! My friends have all dropped out
but yours still hanker for my worthless blood.
There are no chocolates in my empty box.

We carry on boxing, our home is the ring,
The purse is a pittance, the kids form a crowd,
Baying for blood until someone's knocked out!